Fatal Last Words

Three

The top hinge of the bedroom door creaked as he eased it open. Bob Skinner winced. That’s the trouble with historic buildings, he thought. They can never quite keep up with the maintenance. He held his breath in the hope that the sleeper would not wake, but after a few seconds she stirred, and peered out from under the covering sheet.

‘Thanks,’ Aileen de Marco mumbled. ‘I might as well have come out with you. What time is it?’

‘About ten to seven,’ he replied, as he peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it into the furthest corner of the bedroom.

‘Bob!’

‘Sorry, babe. I couldn’t sleep, so. .’

‘So you went out for a run. This is becoming a habit. You should take something to help: pills, or even alcohol.’

He shook his head as he stepped out of his shorts. ‘Pills, I never will; as for alcohol, if I did that at my age I’d be up in the middle of the bloody night anyway.’

She propped herself up on her elbows and gazed at him. ‘At your age? Is that what this is about? You’ve got a big birthday creeping up on you and it’s getting to you?’ She smiled. ‘Bob, my love, you don’t have to prove anything, you know; not to me, not to anyone else, and certainly not to yourself. You don’t have to get up at six and go running round the streets, or along the beach like you do when we’re in Gullane.’

‘It doesn’t do me any harm,’ he said, his tone unusually defensive. ‘I like to keep in shape.’

‘You’re already in terrific shape, for. .’ She paused, and he grinned.

‘For a man of my age, you were going to say?’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ she protested, lying. ‘But it’s true. Look at those scars on your body. You have a stab wound there,’ she pointed to his side, ‘you’ve been shot in the leg. Then there’s the pacemaker in your chest, for. . what’s the name again of the condition you have? I can never remember.’

‘Sinus bradycardia.’

‘Sounds like a runny nose.’

He tapped his left pectoral muscle, just below the collarbone, where the pacemaker was located. ‘With this thing it’s less of a problem than a runny nose.’

‘Then why are you trying to use up the battery?’

‘I’m not. It doesn’t work like that anyway. The device is insurance against a recurrence, no more than that.’

‘Fine, but it’s there, and you’ve come through the experience like you came through the others, because you’re so damn fit.’

‘And I have to work to stay that way,’ he countered, turning and walking naked into the en-suite bathroom, twisting the shower’s mixer tap to reach the customary temperature, and stepping under the power spray.

Aileen slipped out of bed and followed him. ‘But not that hard. I think it’s got to the stage where you aren’t going running because you can’t sleep, you’re making yourself wake up so you can get out there and flog yourself.’

‘That’s what you reckon, is it?’ he said, raising his voice above the water sound. As she nodded, he reached out, took her arm, gently, and drew her into the cubicle and under the shower head, pulling the glass door closed after her. ‘Then you’re wrong,’ he told her. ‘I’m not sleeping very well just now because I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I run because I do some of my best thinking on the move.’

She picked a bar of soap from its dish and began to rub it over his body. ‘And what are you thinking about?’ she asked. ‘Not about going back on our deal, I hope.’

He chuckled. ‘No danger, my love. You and I will be married. I was thinking about asking our friend Jim Gainer if he’d perform the ceremony. I know you say you’re an atheist, but you’re baptised, so. .’

‘The Archbishop?’ she exclaimed. ‘Friend or not, he’d have difficulty with that, Bob; you’re not a Catholic, and even if you were, you’re divorced, remember.’

‘But I wasn’t married in his church.’

‘I don’t think that would make any difference. Besides, you’re an atheist too.’

‘I’m not so sure about that any more,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘In that case you’re an agnostic.’

‘I’m not even sure if I’m one of them. But going back to Jim, I do realise that a full-blown nuptial Mass would be a non-runner, for both those reasons. However. .’ he paused, with a small intake of breath as she reached a sensitive area, ‘. . I have spoken to him, and if we have a civil wedding, he’d be prepared to bless it afterwards at a small private ceremony, families only, that sort of thing; if you’d like it, that is.’

She frowned. ‘Bob, I’d love that, if you’re prepared to go through with it. For my parents’ sake if nothing else; they go to church still.’ He took the soap, and reached behind her. ‘But when I mentioned our deal, I wasn’t talking about the wedding. I meant you putting your name forward for the chief’s job.’ She wriggled. ‘And don’t think you can distract me that way either.’

‘I promised you that I’d apply, didn’t I?’ She nodded. ‘Well, I’ve also promised my daughter, Archbishop Gainer, and the chief himself. So even if you’d changed your mind about your end of our bargain, I’d have some job backing out now. My form has gone in, all duly signed, it’s been acknowledged and I’ll take my chances with the interview board.’

‘Which is absolutely apolitical, and will judge you on your record. So you’re a certainty.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve no idea who the other candidates will be; all I know is who won’t be contenders, and they include Andy Martin, Willie Haggerty, Brian Mackie and most other chief officers in Scotland. I’m the bookies’ favourite, I concede that much, but the job should be open to applicants from England, so I’m taking nothing for granted. But going back to your original question, I’ve got two things on my mind. One is the immediacy of Jimmy’s departure. In two days’ time he goes off on pre-retirement leave; that means that when I go into the office on Wednesday, it’ll be as acting chief constable. You’ll concede that’s worth thinking about.’

‘Granted,’ she said. ‘Now what’s the other thing?’

‘You.’

‘Me? Why me?’

He put the soap back on the dish, and picked up a tube of shampoo. ‘I’m worried about you,’ he told her, as he began to massage it into his hair.

‘Why, in God’s name?’

‘I’m concerned about the effect your job’s having on you.’

‘I’m fine, Bob. Do you think I can’t handle it?’

‘Far from it. In the circumstances, I can’t think of anyone else who could handle it half as well as you do, not even our worthy Prime Minister, or his sainted predecessor. But it’s those very circumstances I’m talking about. Your crowd squeezed back into office by the skin of its teeth; in truth, every political journalist I know tells me it was you that won the election, in spite of your party rather than because of it. As a result you’re spending the bulk of your working day watching your back; much of what you do is a compromise. It’s not, “What do I believe we should do?” It’s got to be, “What do I believe my coalition partners will go along with?” You’re not that sort of operator, Aileen. Although you never use the phrase, you’re a conviction politician, with a clear moral compass, far more so than those people who proclaim out loud that’s what they are. It’s getting to you; I can see that.’

She watched him as he rinsed foam from his scalp. ‘We all have to live in the real world, love.’ If he had been defensive earlier, now it was her turn. ‘I have to do what I can with the mandate the people gave me. The coalition has a majority of one, and we as a party have one seat more than the Nationalists. My convictions, or most of them, were expressed in our manifesto, but the voters didn’t exactly endorse them. Yes, I’ll grant you, I find the present circumstances difficult, but there’s nothing I can do about them. The Scottish Parliament is elected for a fixed four-year term, other than in exceptional circumstances. Even if I wanted to I can’t go bleating to the electorate and ask it to take my handcuffs off.’

Bob stepped from the shower, leaving her under the spray, and picked up a big white towel. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but you do have another option.’

She stared at him. ‘What? Are you saying that I should resign as First Minister?’

‘If that’s what you wanted to do, I would support you. Hell, whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m suggesting that you could wash your hands of those vacillating wankers you’re in coalition with. The way the numbers lie, they’ve only got a few seats in the Parliament, yet they’re puffed up with their own importance, and they’re treating you like. . They’re treating you in a way I don’t like. So maybe you should tell them that their services are no longer required.’

‘Bob, that’s the only possible coalition out there.’ She turned off the shower and he tossed her the second towel from the rail.

‘I know that.’

‘Are you saying we should go it alone?’ she asked. ‘Form a minority executive?’

‘I’m saying you could. But please, call it a government, love. That’s one thing the Nats have got right. You could boot out all the coalition ministers, appoint your own people, then put your manifesto before the Parliament and say you’re going to look to implement it, point by point. You’ll lose on some issues, but you’ll win some too. What do you have at the moment? The policy equivalent of orange squash. . diluted to taste by the ball and fucking chain you’ve got fastened around your ankle.’

She looked up at him as she began to dry herself. ‘I couldn’t do that off my own bat, even if I wanted to. I’d have to get party approval before I did it.’

‘Your parliamentary party will back you, and you know it. The anti-Aileen movement, the old Tommy Murtagh sympathisers, they were pretty much wiped out at the election.’

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘Maybe you should keep on with your running after all,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ve given me something to think about this morning, and that’s for sure.’

‘So you will think about it?’

‘Oh yes, you can be sure of that. I’ll think about it, and I’ll even talk to a couple of close colleagues. For example, Gavin Johnson, the Lord Advocate: I’ll need his opinion on the constitutional position, whether I have a right to form a government. . as you’ll have me call it. . as the head of the largest single party. I’d look pretty daft if I sacked all the hangers-on and they trotted off and formed a coalition with the Nats.’

‘That’s not going to happen. The Nationalists will only get into bed with people who’re as committed to independence as they are.’

‘Don’t be so sure. There are opportunists in every political party.’

‘Not their leader, though, and he’s as much in control of his lot as you are of yours. As you said, your coalition is the only possible one out there. But that doesn’t mean it’s desirable. Our country’s had enough of coalitions, Aileen, for a while at least. That’s what I’m trying to say to you; that’s my gut feeling.’

‘Point made and taken.’ She wrapped the towel around herself. ‘Now, since we’re up, will we get back to Gullane? Or, since Trish and the kids are due back from Sarah’s at midday, and you’ve got to be at the airport to meet them, do you want to wait, and go from here?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you back home. We’ll have breakfast there and then I’ll go; otherwise, it’ll be a hell of a crowd in the car. Besides, I don’t really like hanging about in the official residence; it’s all right for crashing out after we’ve been to a function, but I don’t feel comfortable here. However. .’ he paused, ‘before we go I want to nip across the road. I saw one of our patrol cars pull up outside the Book Festival when I was out. I think I’ll go across and check it out, just in case your pal Randy’s had a bit of bother overnight.’

‘Can’t keep your hands off, can you?’ She smiled at him again. ‘You see?’ she challenged. ‘You’re going to be no ordinary chief constable.’